Behind the Scenes
by Lli
Summary: A lot can change in three years. People most of all. Set during the "missing years" in TLC.
1. Chapter 1

This is the backstory I mentioned in 'Afterwards'. And I know, I know, we all hate Minerva (well, most of us), myself included, but I am determined to make her awesome. Can't let Kit have all the fun!

Also, as several people pointed out, in 'Afterwards' Minerva is still very young, that was my bad. My timelines got a bit confused. In my head I had already written this and so I felt like she'd got a lot older somewhere along the line. Which, of course, she hadn't. Oops. Oh well.

Thanks to Ilex-ferox, as usual, beta-extraordinaire.

* * *

Before

Neither of them said anything as they walked down the hallway, leaving the Taiwan police enthusiastically cleaning up the mess they'd left behind. They rode the elevator down in silence. The bell dinged at every floor but neither of them said a word.

It wasn't until they got back into the rented Lexus that the silence was broken.

"Let me get that," said Butler, doing up her seatbelt. They both knew if it had been any other person, or any other time, she would have delivered a scathing remark on her complete competence in the area of seatbelt usage, thank you _very_ much.

Instead she just said, tremulously, "Thank you," and felt very small sitting in the front seat of the car. When Butler joined her, sliding into the driver's seat, she reached out a very small, very white, very shaky hand and laid it on his wrist. He looked over at her, his face empty, further speech utterly beyond him.

"Thank you," she said again and, though she swallowed at the end – tears, nerves, who could tell – her words didn't tremble as she looked him straight in the eye. Her eyes were blue, but not the right blue. They moved him anyway. Somewhere in him a small voice wondered that anything could affect him now.

He covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers. He nodded and gave her the best smile he could manage. It wasn't a reassuring smile, to be truthful it was actually quite terrifying. To see such a strong man's mouth shake as it tried to form itself into something so simple. To see someone so brave reduced to something so broken. This is a crime, Minerva thought, I should be locked away. When she looked back on that day it was that smile that she would mark as the moment she knew that she had done something unforgivable.

She raised her hand, no longer shaking – someone had to be strong here, and it shouldn't have to be him – and laid it on the corner of his lips. "Don't bother," she said, "I know what I've done. You don't need to try to make me feel better. You've done enough already."

Something suspiciously like a sob escaped Butler and Minerva bit her lip. She was trying to be strong but she was only twelve, and helpless herself, and how did you comfort someone in a situation like this, anyway? She leaned over the gap between their seats and hugged as much of him as she could. For the first time in her life, she felt entirely inadequate. In her arms his body shuddered, but he didn't make a sound.

Cry, she thought to herself, who am I to judge you? Please, just cry.

Eventually, he did. She didn't know if it made her feel better or worse.

* * *

"Could I ..." she trailed off, looking shy. Eyes on her toes, she asked, "Could I visit you, maybe, sometime, perhaps, Butler? Would that be alright? Would you mind?"

Butler cocked his head to one side, clearly surprised. "Visit me?"

"Yes," she told her shoelaces.

Ahead of them, beyond the barrier, her father and Beau waited in the company of a new bodyguard; Juan Soto was nowhere to be seen. Behind them, planes thundered down onto the tarmac, crowded with people coming home and going away. Planes were very hopeful things, Butler thought suddenly, full of second chances and new beginnings.

"I would like that," he said at last. "I'd ... that would be ... very nice, Minerva."

Her lips curved in a self-mocking little smile. "Very nice," she parroted. "Or are you just trying to comfort me again, Butler?"

"No," he said. "I don't have the energy. Besides," he looked at her, "how do you comfort someone in a situation like this?"

She nodded in understanding. "Shall I call you?"

"Yes," he said, "do that. I – well, it ... that'd be nice," he finished lamely. It was such a pathetic sentence he even managed a small smile himself.

Her eyes glinted suspiciously but she beamed at him nonetheless. Throwing her small arms around his middle, she hugged him as tightly as she could. "Thank you, Butler," she spoke into his shirt.

"You keep saying that," he mused, laying a hand on her tired, lank curls.

"It bears repeating," she told him.


	2. Chapter 2

This update will probably make me late for work, but oh well. I'm stoked on how positive a response this has gotten already, hurrah! I was expecting to have to deal with lots of indignant reviewers, but you guys are awesome. I know the books he's given him aren't all the ones EC mentions but she's got three years, right? She doesn't have to give them to him all at once.

Thanks to Ilex-ferox, the loveliest of betas.

* * *

The First Year

"...Hello?" No one knew this number. Well, one person did, but he, well...

"Butler?"

"_Minerva_?"

"Yes. Is this ... is it a bad time?"

"What? No! No. Just ... I'm surprised to hear your voice, that's all. The only person who used this number ..." He swallowed the last of that sentence.

"Oh." Her voice was very small. "I didn't know, I'm sorry, Butler. I should have called the house."

"No, no, it's nice, getting a phone call. I suppose there's no point in asking how you got the number."

She chuckled weakly. "Well, hacking isn't something I excel at, but I can find a simple phone number."

Butler knew his number was not at all simple to find, but he let it drop. "What can I do for you, Minerva?"

"I ..." she paused, and he thought he could make out the sound of her worrying her lip. "I was wondering if you were free this afternoon?"

"Free this afternoon? Oh yes, quite free. Free as a bird, you could say." Butler felt his grip on the conversation slipping and reined himself in.

She heard it in his voice, however, and she paused. "Well ... would you like to have lunch in town? We're on a family holiday; I told my father I'd always wanted to see Ireland."

"Had you?"

"Not at all, but I did want to see you."

"Oh. Well. Thank you. Alright then. Okay. Lunch. Sure. When? Where?"

"_Restaurant_ _Patrick_ _Guilbaud_? Do you know it? In two hours? Is that alright?"

"Yes, I know it and yes, that's alright. That's perfect. We used to- I'll see you there."

He heard her sigh on the other end. "Alright, Butler. I'll see you soon."

"Yes." They both stayed on the line for a few more seconds before hanging up.

* * *

"You came here _alone_?"

She smiled at his horrified expression. "Of course. I could hardly bring my father and Beau."

"Well, no, but your father just let you come on your own? Without _any_one?"

"Butler, you're the only person right now who has any reason to wish me harm and, should you ever decide to act upon that, there is no one I could bring with me who would be able to keep me safe."

Despite himself, Butler was a little flattered, but he would not be distracted. "I'm not talking about targeted attacks, what about opportunists? Muggers? Ransomers? Human slave traffickers?"

"In this neighbourhood?"

"Anything is possible, Minerva."

"I appreciate your concern, Butler, but I'm quite alright, and now you're here and I've probably never been more safe."

He didn't look convinced. She reached across the table and laid a small hand on his fingers. "How are you, Butler?"

His lips twitched. "Well, as I'm sure you can guess from my reaction just there, I've been better."

"Yes, you did seem a little ... over the top."

"Oh, I'm over the top, alright. The family thinks I've gone mad."

"What? Why?"

"I told them. The truth, I mean. About – about Artemis. Minerva, I had to. What else could I do?"

"Oh, Butler." Her face grew pinched.

"What else could I do?" he whispered. "They don't believe me. Can you blame them? But I just wish –if someone would just – if anyone would just _believe_ ..." he trailed off.

"Would you like ... would you like to tell me about it? About Artemis? About everything? I'd believe you."

He looked at her for a moment. She wondered what he saw in her face. Did he see an ulterior motive where, for once, there was only sympathy? Was he so used to treachery he'd see it even in the truth? Was she so used to lying that she had started to believe her own lies? Was her second chance, this tenuous reaching out, going to fail before it even really began? No, she thought. No. We are stronger than that. We are _better_ than that.

"I ..." he began. "Yes, actually. Yes, I would. God, Minerva, I've never been away from him this long, never, not once since he was born." He took a gulp of water. "What am I supposed to do without him? What will I _do_ without him?"

"But he's coming back, Butler. He told you he would. We just have to find something to distract you in the interim. Take your mind off things. Think of it as a vacation."

"A vacation?" He gave a bark of laughter. "I don't take vacations."

"I'm trying to help, Butler." Her voice quavered as she realised just how far in over her head she was. Pain was not her speciality, especially not other people's. And this one went so, so deep. "I am not going to let you just - just _wallow_."

Butler looked at her askance. "'Wallow'?"

"I couldn't think of a more appropriate word," she replied, defensive.

Butler chuckled, turning his hand over to squeeze hers. "Wallow works just fine, Minerva."

"Thank you." She sniffed haughtily, but ruined the effect with a nervous giggle.

* * *

It was Minerva who got him the house. She researched the location of Hybras and found him a rental cottage in Duncade.

"After all," she said, "you'll want to be the first to know when he comes back."

He was glad that she, at least, had never questioned his faith in Artemis' return. Whether or not she believed it herself he didn't know, nor did he care to. She believed that he believed, and that was what mattered at the moment. He wondered what it said about him that the only person he knew who didn't currently think him a lunatic had only just turned thirteen. He tried not to think about that too deeply.

It wasn't as though he blamed the Fowls for not believing his story. They had every right not to. It sounded so far-fetched that he hadn't even been able to bring himself to tell Juliet. Though neither, he surmised from the lack of hysterical telephone calls from Mexico, had the Fowls. The fewer people who knew, the better. After all, fairies and demons? From a blue diamond bodyguard? No wonder they thought he'd gone mad with guilt. Sometimes he wondered if he really had. Gone mad, that was.

Minerva didn't think so, however. "Butler, _mon cher ami_, of course they are going to think you mad. They have never seen proof. Everyone needs proof, with the possible exception of religious fanatics - but they tend to make their own. The Fowls are missing important pieces of data and therefore they cannot see the whole picture. The whole picture, nonetheless, exists. Evolution went on for millions of years, totally indifferent to whether or not we believed in it. Don't worry, they will understand eventually."

He set the teapot down on the rough wooden table between them. "I have no proof that he will come back, Minerva. Where does that put me? Am I not seeing the bigger picture either? Maybe I _am_ blinded by grief like they say, and just can't accept that he is gone." He said it with as much emotion as though he were putting forward a scientific hypothesis, a philosophical argument. At times like this he sounded a bit like Artemis. It worried Minerva.

She didn't let it show. "Psh, Butler, you are talking nonsense. You have proof. Artemis Fowl was your charge. You saw him escape from that time stop, you saw him rescue his father and overthrow that Koboi character. And yet you doubt that he will come back to you? He said he would. There's your proof."

He chuckled and the new wrinkles on his face rearranged themselves from frown lines to smile lines. "Thank you, Minerva."

* * *

"I brought you something, Butler."

"Oh? That was nice of you."

"Nice, always this 'nice'. What is it with you anglophones and this 'nice'. It is an awful word. It means nothing."

"That was kind of you, Minerva."

"Thank you, Butler," she accepted his gratitude like a queen accepting the admiration of her vassals. It was only her due, after all.

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a heavy, square package. "Open it!" she commanded, queenly one minute, over-eager child the next.

Slowly, Butler slit open the brown paper wrapping.

She pursed her lips, fingers drumming on the tabletop.

"Patience is a virtue, Minerva. I'm trying to savour my gift."

"You're _trying_ to annoy me."

"Would I do that? It's just a lucky side-effect."

Inside the protective paper were books. Four of them. Lovely editions. He picked each one up, read the title and laid it on the table. "_Alice in Wonderland_, _Moby Dick_, _Peter Pan_ and ..." he paused, holding the last book in his hand and frowning, "_Pride and Prejudice_? I'm not sure Artemis will approve of this."

"Well, he will just have to learn to accept it. It's for when you're feeling down. Jane Austen always ends happily." Minerva shrugged as though Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy would banish any and all of a forty-something, battle-hardened bodyguard's demons.

"Right."

She sighed. "Butler, you live alone in this tiny little village with no company but your own thoughts. I come as often as I can, but you need to do more with your time than practise martial arts routines and think about Artemis."

"I cook, too."

"Oh, well, in _that _case," she levelled a look at him. "Just read them, Butler. There'll be a quiz next time, so that I know you did. And don't worry, the answers won't be on Sparknotes."

"You're a slave driver, Minerva," he said. But he smiled at her.

"It's harder than it looks to exonerate oneself," she told him.

He paused. "Is that what this is about? Minerva, you don't have to make this up to me. You don't need to feel guilty."

"Did I say I was feeling guilty?" She eyed his sceptical expression and took a deep breath. "Butler, we both know that I am the reason Artemis is gone. And _I_ know that I need to be able to accept the fact that I have done a terrible thing to you. I don't feel guilty, _per_ _se_, but I do feel responsible. And I feel it is time that I start living up to my responsibilities."

Pausing to collect herself, she sipped delicately at her tea. "Besides," she continued, setting down the mug, "I ... I like you, Butler. You're, well, I think that you may be my friend. In fact, if I am honest, I think you may be my only friend. And I would like to be a good friend to you. Could we ... could we be friends?"

Two tiny pieces of Butler's broken heart melted then, fusing themselves back together. "Of course. Minerva, of course we're friends. And you are a good friend." He picked up _Peter_ _Pan _with a smile, "One of the best."

She blushed, and gulped her tea.

* * *

Butler eyed the board with evident misgivings. "I already know how to play, Minerva, you don't need to teach me."

"Of course you do, everyone does," Minerva replied, unconcerned.

"So then why ...?"

"Well, what's the point in knowing how to play if one never plays? What colour would you like to be?"

"Couldn't we just play chess or something? I thought you child geniuses liked chess."

"First of all, it's 'genii' and, second of all, I didn't realise there were rules for what one could and could not like should one happen to be born a genius. I must not have been sent my copy of the owner's manual. What a shocking oversight, storks simply aren't the birds they once were. Bringing babies to people who don't want them, mixing babies up in mid-flight, forgetting owner's manuals. Shocking, truly. But, more importantly, what colour would you like?"

"Artemis always played chess with me," Butler said, though he was unsure how that related to the situation. It just seemed like it needed to be said. It didn't feel right to talk for so long without bringing up his name. As though, if it was said often enough, it would simply conjure him up.

"I thought he might have done," Minerva agreed. "Which is why I'm asking you to play Chinese Checkers instead. I'm not Artemis, Butler."

The man paused, mouth open to say something else entirely. For perhaps the first time since they'd met Butler really looked at her. "No," he said after a moment, "no, I know you're not."

"Good," she said. "What colour?"

"I – ah ... blue."

"Alright, I'll be yellow, then."

Silently, he nodded, watching her bend her head over the board, setting the marbles in their divots. He wondered wether she was right: had he been confusing the two? Trying to replace one brilliant, lonely, child with another?

Then she looked up, caught him watching her, and smiled at him, her cheeks pink from the fire. No, he thought, I could never have confused the two of them. Minerva wanted to be understood. Minerva wanted to be loved. Artemis did too, but would never have admitted it. You had to know what to look for to know it. And, knowing it, you felt like a thief. But Minerva, she offered it up freely.


	3. Chapter 3

And here we are again. I've taken to writing all of my stories out more of less completely before posting anything, so, hopefully everything should be out pretty quickly. I'm sorry for delays, if they do crop up, they're mostly of the nit-picking variety. Because, let's face it, I could nit-pick until the cows came home! And, may I just say that I love the Quebecois?

Also: anytime now, Kit, anytime. (Please?)

One more time, three cheers for ilex-ferox!

* * *

The Second Year.

Minerva heaved an enormous sigh. "I've _got_ bodyguards, Butler."

"It doesn't matter. You genius types always think you're fine on your own – which, by the way, you are not – therefore you need to know the basics of self defence. Your father may allow you to wander the streets alone, unarmed and unprotected, but I won't have it."

Minerva sighed again, pouting.

"Besides," Butler said, "Artemis told me to look after you."

She knew there was no argument against that. Even _in_ _absentia_, Artemis had the final say. It was all they could do for him now.

"Fine," she folded, but made it clear that she had every intention of being a sore loser.

"Good. Right. Let's start with something easy. Pretend I'm a bad guy," Butler scowled at her. She giggled. He cleared his throat pointedly.

"Sorry. _Ah non! Un mauvais homme! Aidez-moi! Au secours!_" Minerva twittered in a falsetto. This time it was Butler who sighed.

"Try to take this seriously, Minerva. Now, I, the bad guy, have got you cornered." He closed in on her, backing her into a corner of the living room. "Clearly, I am too big for you to knock out, and you can't run around me, so, what are you going to do?"

Wedged tightly into the corner, Minerva looked up at him, and the blood rose to her cheeks. She swallowed. "I ... ah ... what is the expression in English? Kick you in the balls?" she offered, trying for cavalier but not quite making it.

Butler groaned, stepping back. "No, no, no. That's what everyone expects. You pop out my eyeballs."

Minerva's blush disappeared as quickly as it had come. "Pop – eww!_ Dégueulasse_! Please tell me that was just lost in translation."

"It wasn't. What you need to do is take your thumbs, like so," he picked up her thumbs and put them to his closed eyes, "and dig them in and to the side. Hard. As hard as you can. Don't think about it, just do it."

She pushed gingerly, her face disgusted.

Butler pulled her hands away from his eyes, holding them both in one of his. "Well, it's a start," he said.

Minerva shuddered delicately.

* * *

"Do you ever talk about your mother?" Butler set the plate of _linguine alle vongole _before her with a flourish.

"Pardon me?"

"You don't need to, if you don't want to, but, I just thought, maybe, you'd want someone to talk to about it. Artemis never talks about the things that hurt him. I don't think it's healthy."

"My mother ..." Minerva let out her breath in a huff.

"Though I suppose your father put you through lots of expensive therapy."

"Well, he certainly tried. I was a bit much for them to handle I think," she smirked.

"Sounds familiar," Butler smiled sadly, toying with his food.

The girl shrugged. "There's not really much to say about my mother. One day she was our mother, the next day she had eloped with the gardener. He specialised in topiary, you know."

Butler raised his eyebrows. "I hadn't realised."

"Mmm," she said, and began talking about the cinematography of Agnès Varda.

He took the hint and didn't mention it again.

After dinner, Minerva took her coffee and settled into her favourite armchair. She sipped once from her cup before carefully setting it aside. "Butler?" she began, looking at the fireplace.

"Yes?"

"Am I really so horrible as that?"

"What? As horrible as what, Minerva?"

"That even the hired help is easier to love?" She looked up at him and there were tear-tracks on her cheeks.

Butler put down his coffee cup in a hurry. "No, Minerva, no. You are not as horrible as that." Crossing to her chair, he tucked her under his chin in an all-encompassing hold.

"I – there are times when I still miss her. I don't want to, but I do. She's my _mother_." She swallowed hard, and he could feel it against his heart. "She is my mother and she _left me_. How could she have, Butler? _How could she have_? I mean, I understand that Beau and I aren't the best of children, but I must have done _something_. Mothers don't just leave their children!"

"It s _not_ your fault, Minerva. It's just, some people, they can't handle anything out of the ordinary. They don't know what to do with it. And you're anything but ordinary. It doesn't mean you're horrible. It doesn't mean you don't deserve to be loved."

"Do I though? I mean, after all I've done? All I've intended to do?"

"Yes," he said, without hesitating. "Yes, you do. You've done more than just kidnap N˚1 in your life, Minerva, and I, for one, wouldn't trade you for all the gardeners in the world. No matter how fantastic their topiary was."

She took a shaky breath, fighting down a sob. "Nor I you," she said.

"Though I might consider trading Beau for a good window box display," he chuckled, and she could feel the rumble of it under her cheek.

* * *

"I ordered my men to shoot that creature in Beau's car, you know."

"I beg your pardon?" Butler looked up from _The Art of War_.

Minerva was watching winter rain run down the window panes, _Anna Karenina _lying forgotten in her lap. "When Artemis had that fairy break into my _château_ and he stole Beau's little car – just before I kidnapped Holly. Do you remember?"

"Oh yes. Doodah."

"Doodah. Is that his name? I told my men to shoot him." She turned to face Butler. "It all seemed so important at the time. The demon, the Nobel, beating Artemis at his own game. Now it all seems like some bizarre dream I had, years and years ago. It feels like lifetimes ago. Like it happened to another person."

"Maybe it did."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not really who you were two years ago. You _are_ a different person."

Minerva smiled at him. "I'd certainly like to think so. A fairy in a toy car, and I was screaming for them to shoot. As though I were deranged. Who knows? Maybe I was."

"You were just doing what you thought was the most important thing at the time."

She laughed mirthlessly. "You know, it's funny, I felt so grown up then, but now I look back and think what a child I was."

"Well, you're not even fourteen now, you've a long ways to go yet. I'm sure you'll look back on yourself in a few more years and think the same thing."

"I don't know," she said. "I like me as I am now. I would like to still be like this in a few years. I feel so ... calm, I suppose. Like this great, big, chaotic ... _thing_ ..." she waved her hands vaguely, "has ended and now I'm nothing but me, at last. Like I had something – a virus - in my head and it had taken me over and now I'm finally rid of it. That need to – to – oh, I don't know. To prove myself, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was unpleasant."

"Well, puberty affects everyone in different ways," Butler said, straight faced, trying not to remember Artemis' vow to defeat the dreaded change.

Minerva blinked at him for a few seconds before she realised he was joking. "Oh, ha ha, yes, you're all comedians, you English."

"I'm not English."

"Of course you are; you speak it, don't you?"

"Well, yes, and the Quebecois also speak French."

Minerva paused briefly, then gave a twitchy little shudder. "I take your point, you're not English."

* * *

They were playing backgammon when Minerva said, out of the blue, "I used to be jealous of Holly."

"Excuse me?" Butler replied. He was beginning to realise that Minerva intended to tell him everything; she just had to do it in her own time. And time was something he had lots of.

"I know. Silly, isn't it? But I was ... not in love, I was infatuated with Artemis. And she and he, well, sometimes they're like one person, the way they work together. They're lucky. It's not everyone finds a ... friend ... like that."

"Yes, Artemis certainly is lucky with Holly." Butler eyed her thoughtfully. "But you said 'was'. You're not infatuated with Artemis any longer, then?"

She shook her head. "I know he means the world to you, and that he and I are very similar, but I ... I think I've found someone better."

Butler chuckled.

"What?" she asked, defensive.

"Nothing. It's just – I just love the way you two talk. Like adults. I forget that you're only barely fourteen. You're so serious, Minerva."

"It's a serious subject," she snapped, indignant.

"Oh, of course. But, Minerva, you _are_ only fourteen. I'm sure you'll find several other someone betters before your time's up."

"You think so, do you?"

"I think so, yes."

"How many someone betters have you had?"

"That's different, I don't have time for lovers."

"You do now. Any of the village women caught your eye, Butler?"

"Minerva," Butler's voice was repressive.

"Truly, though, Butler. How many people have you loved?"

He shook his head. "Curiosity killed the cat, Minerva."

"Please." She opened her eyes very wide. "_Vas-y_, Butler, tell me a story. Just one."

Butler sighed. "Well, there was a girl in the academy. She was very talented."

"What happened to her?"

"She was killed in Ethiopia."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, it was years ago. It wasn't exactly life-changing anyway."

"Still, that's sad."

"Yes," he agreed, and smiled to think her so changed that a stranger's death gave her pause for thought.

"Was anyone?"

"Was anyone what?"

"Life-changing."

"Ah ... well ..."

"Butler."

"There was a woman in France, once."

"Oh yes?" A smirk.

"That's when I learned to speak it, the language."

"She was a good teacher. From the north, I take it?"

"Strasbourg. The accent's still there?"

"Very much so. A lovely city."

"I certainly thought so."

They sat in silence for a moment, both waiting for the other. Butler broke first.

"She had red hair," he said. "Her name was Marianne. I loved her. She was very small, but she laughed a lot. She told me everything about herself and I never told her anything but lies."

"What happened?" Minerva asked quietly.

"Artemis was born," Butler smiled.

"Oh."

"I loved her, but he was worth it."

"Do you ... do you love him?"

"What? Of course. Of course I do. How could I not?"

"No, I mean ... like that."

"Like – oh. No. No. Not like that. Like a son. Like a brother. Like both of those and more, but not like that." He was quiet for a moment, then said, "It's close, but not quite it. It's like being in love, but without the desire, without any desire but to keep him safe and happy forever. Does that makes sense?"

"Yes," Minerva nodded. She paused, then continued. "We like to draw a lot of lines through love, but it doesn't always stick to them, does it?"

"No," Butler agreed, "it doesn't."

"I miss him," he said, a moment later.

She crossed to his chair and, perching herself on the armrest, wrapped her arms around his neck.

Forgotten on the table, their backgammon game lay abandoned halfway, neither of them in the lead. In the fading daylight, the whites and blacks of the board grew grey and forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

And here we go! It's like I'm oozing Butler/Minerva fanfiction. Actually, that's kind of a gross simile. Oh well. And, in case you were all wondering, my contract ends this Sunday! I will have a life again! Seriously, never work in the events circuit, guys. Just say no! Being an adrenalin junkie is like a heart attak for your social life.

Anyway. Ilex-ferox is a fabulous beta. Also, this is the second to last chapter! Wahoo! And I have to admit, I'm really, really fond of Minerva in this chapter.

* * *

The Third Year

"Since when do you smoke? I thought you hated cigarettes."

"Since my mother left us. And all covert smokers want people to think they hate cigarettes."

"Those things kill you."

"So does being alive." It amazed him that she could say things like that without a trace of melodrama, as though she were simply stating a fact. It was probably because she was French. Or maybe because she was fifteen. You could get away with a lot at fifteen.

"I thought you were smarter than that."

Laughing, she tapped ash onto the concrete. "I am. I'm so much smarter than that that I've come full circle. Besides," she gave a Gallic shrug, "I'm French. It's our national pastime."

"You never struck me as one to play to stereotypes."

Blowing out smoke in a thin stream, she smiled. "We all have our little foibles, Butler."

"Does your father know?"

"What do you think?" She shot him a look over the glowing tip of her cigarette.

"Too scared to tell him?"

"I'm not scared of anything, least of all my father." Minerva sat up straight, raising her chin. Her head tilted back, as though weighed down by the mass of her hair.

Butler snorted, suddenly fed up with her. With her arrogance, with her play-acting, as though she didn't care what anyone thought of her. In that respect, she was just like Artemis. And he was fed up with Artemis as well, still, after all these years. "Why show me, then? You wouldn't have done it if you didn't want me to know. Do you think it impresses me? Think it makes you look like an adult? Yes, you're all grown up now, Minerva. You've gone and become even prettier and even cleverer and now you smoke to boot. What'll it be next? Hangovers? Thuggish boyfriends? You think you're so suave and mature. For heaven's sake, I saw your hands shake when you lit up. It's a farce, Minerva, you're not an adult, you barely got to be a child. And trust me, there's more to being grown-up than a big vocabulary and a smoker's cough."

He expected her to get angry. He wouldn't have blamed her. He was being a jackass. But, for some reason, the idea of her lungs filling up with tar, and her white teeth decaying, and her dying of lung cancer in some dingy hospital room, sent him over the edge.

"You think I'm pretty, Butler?" she asked instead, and her blue eyes pinned him down. They weren't the blue he combed the streets for, but somehow they were just as powerful.

"I – what?" he said, frowning.

"You said I'd become even prettier. Did you mean that? Do you think I'm pretty?" There was something in her voice that made him pause. And besides, what did you say to that? A lie would have been insulting, but the truth – well, what was wrong with the truth anyway? It was the truth.

"Of course I do, Minerva, you're beautiful," he told her.

She beamed at him, her blue eyes turning soft and light. And, as quickly as it had come, his frustration melted away. Reaching over, he took her free hand, by way of apology. Her fingers disappeared in his, but she somehow managed to squeeze them, to let him know she understood.

They sat that way until the sun was fully set and the outside air grew chilly. Dropping her cigarette to the pavement, she ground it out with the toe of her patent-leather boot. "My hands shook because I _was_ afraid, afraid that you'd be angry," she said. "But it's part of who I am and, stupid or not, I don't want to hide anything anymore. Not from you."

* * *

She didn't say anything when he opened the door, just threw herself into his arms, already crying.

"Jesus – what the – Minerva! What's the matter?" He was itching to check for broken bones, but he got the feeling the hurt lay elsewhere. Gently, he shoved the door shut with his foot to keep out the winter rain. "What's wrong? _Dis-moi_."

Sometimes, they spoke in French when she came to visit, and sometimes they spoke in English. He was fluent, though his accent was of a decidedly different class. He thought French would be more comforting.

"No, no, no. In English, it's easier for me in English. I don't want – not in my mother tongue." She raised her face from his crumpled shirt front and there was a bruise under her left eye. "English makes it farther away from me. As though it happened to someone else."

If he'd been anxious before, Butler was now definitely worried. "As though _what_ happened? And what happened to your face? And how did you get here? I wasn't expecting you until next month. You're not being chased are you?" Instinctively, his hand edged towards his gun.

"No." She managed a watery laugh, "I'm not being chased, Butler. I flew here and rented a car in Dublin."

"They let you _rent_ a _car_? You don't look a day over fifteen."

"I do have fake ID, Butler."

"Yes, but still! And in this weather!" Right on cue, thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Butler–" But, looking up at his indignant expression she gave up and just laughed. It was a pathetic sort of laugh, however, and didn't make either of them feel any better.

Pushing her wet hair off her face, careful of her bruise, he tried a smile. "Tea?" he offered.

"Please."

He let her compose herself on the couch while he fiddled with the electric kettle and the teabags.

"I was in London with a friend," she said, while he was pouring the water. "A – a male ... friend."

He got out the mugs in silence, but his reflection in the rainy window pane was murderous.

"He's in one of my university courses, so he's a bit older. We get – we got - along very well. He's very smart."

"Aren't they all," muttered Butler under his breath.

"He invited me to go to London with him for the weekend." Minerva looked up at him as he set the tray down on the low table. Their eyes met and Butler wanted to kill something.

"What happened?"

"We went to London." She tried to laugh again, but it didn't come out quite as she'd hoped. "We went to London and ... and ... Today was fine. It was lovely, really it was." She licked her lips, "It's just, afterwards, after we'd had dinner and we went back to the hotel and I thought we were really just going to have coffee – we had separate rooms, after all – and _coffee_, Butler! God, I must be the stupidest girl that's ever lived. I fell for the _putain_ coffee line."

"He didn't want to have coffee," Butler said.

"He didn't want to have coffee," Minerva agreed. She put her hands to her mouth.

"Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head, "Only a little, grabbed me, that's all. Nothing – nothing bad." She covered the bruise on her cheek with a hand. "And I – I got away before anything happened. I did like you taught me. I think I nearly popped out one of his ... his ... his eyeballs." Her lips trembled uncontrollably. "I was so scared, Butler."

"Minerva – oh Jesus – Minerva, don't worry, it's alright now, you're safe." He came over to the couch, lowering himself onto it gently so as not to frighten her. With one arm, he tucked her to his side, the other coming up to stroke her hair. His voice was soft and low. "It's alright, you're safe here, Minerva."

She curled into him, crying again. He kept talking in that low, gentle voice, though what he said or for how long they stayed like that, he had no idea. He was too busy thinking about the slowest ways he knew to dismember someone.

"Butler," she said eventually, her voice cracking a little, "I want to hurt him. I know that's probably wrong, but I don't care. I want him to be a-afraid like I was."

For a moment Butler didn't say anything. He knew, as the adult, as a man who had spent his whole life learning control, that he should talk her out of this. But he was also a man who had spent his whole life learning to protect; learning to kill in order to do so. He was a weapon, and what was the point of learning something if not to use it? She was under his protection, after all, and there were people who needed to be made aware of that.

"How long will he be in London?" he asked.

Minerva sat up, staring at him. "Butler ... you would do that? For me?"

"I was told to look after you, remember?"

"Don't you think," voice neutral, she chose her words slowly, "that this may be a bit above and beyond what Artemis meant?"

"Probably," agreed Butler. "But I'm not too worried about that at the moment, to tell you the truth."

"Oh," she said in a very small voice. Then, stronger, "To London, then?"

"To London. But I'm driving."

She laughed, but the hand she laid in his still shook.

In a crisp suit and tie, Butler felt almost like his old self as they strode across the hotel lobby. Still too hairy, but there you were.

The boy was sleeping when they entered his bedroom. Sprawled out on top of his sheets, long legs lolling in every direction. In the dim light of the streetlamps through the window, Butler could see that he was handsome. Tall, dark-haired, pale. He reminded Butler of someone. He glanced over at Minerva; her face was hard, her lips pressed so tightly together they were nearly invisible.

Butler slapped the boy awake.

"_Putain_ _de_ _merde!_ _Qu'est-ce qui s'passe? Qui es-tu? Minerva? Quoi_?" He floundered in his sheets, looking from Minerva to Butler and back again, dark eyes wide, the left one swollen.

"Does he speak English?" Butler asked Minerva, as though asking about the weather. She nodded.

"Excellent." Butler took off his jacket, hung it neatly on a nearby chair and began to roll up his sleeves.

"Minerva–" The boy started. Butler slapped him again. Not hard. Not compared to what he could do.

"No," the bodyguard said mildly, "you will not speak to her."

"What – who _are_ you?" The boy began to edge away from the towering man at his bedside. Butler plucked him out of the bed and set him on his feet.

"I'm a friend of Minerva," Butler said. "One you should have thought about before you assaulted her."

"Assault – _assault_ – I didn't –she – is that what she told you? She – she came back to my room!"

"She's fifteen, you asshole," Butler slapped him again. "She didn't know any better."

"She wanted me," the boy staggered under Butler's hand, clutching his cheek.

"Oh yes? So much so that you needed to slap her around a bit before hand?" Another slap.

"No, I– please– please, I'll never touch her again– please–"

"You've certainly got that right, you'll sure as _hell_ never touch her again. You so much as look at her, and I'll know about it." This slap sent the boy to the ground. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes, but–please– Minerva–" He turned, looking up at her, looking for forgiveness.

Half lit by the streetlights, half in shadow, Minerva watched him and said nothing.

"I thought I had made it clear," as though the boy were a fly, Butler sent him sprawling again, "that you don't get to speak to her."

"But–"

"Sh. Listen." Butler pulled the boy up by the collar, "Just think of it this way – what's his name, again?"

"Tomás," she said.

"Spanish, are you?" Butler asked the boy.

"My mother is. Galician."

"That's nice." He hit him again. "Well, Tomás, look at it this way: now you know that no means no, don't you? And isn't that a handy lesson to have learned?" Another slap and Tomás' nose was gushing blood down his front. "Because now that you've learnt your lesson, you won't go around _assaulting_," another slap, "young girls again, will you? And then," slap, "you won't have to worry about irate fathers," slap, "brothers," slap, "or various other larger and stronger friends and relatives coming to do this to you in the dead of night, will you?" He threw him against the wall. "_Will_ you?"

"N-n-n-n-no," Tomás agreed. He shook his head and blood flew. Butler stepped back, out of the spray.

"Excellent," said Butler, "then let's get started, shall we?"

"Started?" Tomás squeaked at the same time Minerva said, "Stop."

Butler looked over at her, eyebrows raised. "Are you sure?"

"Y-yes." She nodded once. "I – this is enough."

"Alright," Butler said evenly. He cocked his head, looking at Tomás leaning against the wall, his long legs shaking and his face puffy and bloody. He knew he should feel pity, maybe self-disgust, but all he felt was contempt.

"If you tell anyone," Minerva came to stand next to Butler, "I won't say stop next time."

Tomás said nothing, but his body convulsed.

In silence, Butler gathered up his jacket and ushered Minerva out, a hand on her back, like a perfect gentleman.

On the plane, she put her hand in his. "Thank you," she said.

He looked over at her. "I don't want to do that again," he said. His conscience was beginning to catch up with him. Or maybe it was the boy's blue eyes.

"You won't. That was ... I ... thank you, Butler."

"You're welcome." He paused, looking out the window at the passing clouds. "I would though, if I needed to. Do it again."

"I know," she said. "I am a very lucky girl."

"That's one way of looking at it," Butler chuckled. "By the way, was it coincidence?"

"Was what coincidence?"

"His looks."

"Oh. You noticed."

"Yes, I noticed. I thought you said that infatuation was long gone."

"No, it wasn't a coincidence and yes, it is. I just wanted to see – I wanted to see what it would be like. Curiosity killed the cat, like you said."

"Tomás isn't Artemis."

"Obviously. Though, even then, I just don't think he's my 'type." Her smile was small and turned inward, as though she was sharing a secret with herself.

"No? And what is?" Butler asked, playing along.

"Oh, well, I think I'd prefer someone more lasting. Someone a little ... stronger. Less flashy, more useful."

"Artemis is very useful," Butler replied, vaguely indignant.

Minerva laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. "For certain things, he'd be the best, to be sure. For others," she yawned, "not so much."

"He _is_ a terrible cook," Butler agreed, patting her hair absentmindedly. "And not so useful in a fight, but still I–" He looked down and saw that she was smiling in her sleep.

* * *

"I know you're trying to fit in with the villagers, Butler, but, please, have you looked in a mirror lately?" Sighed dramatically, Minerva tugged a hank of his hair forward into his line of sight with the air of an agrieved wife. "I mean, _vraiement, _do you see these split ends? They're breaking my heart!" she pouted.

"I didn't realise you were so invested in my hair."

"I'm invested in _you_. I don't like seeing you go to seed like this."

"I'm not going to seed! It's camouflage."

"Really."

Butler tilted his head so he could see her where she stood behind him, eyebrows raised expectantly. He rolled his eyes. "What do you want me to do about it, Minerva?" he asked, resigned.

"Let me cut it."

"Let – _you_ cut hair?" he asked doubtfully.

"I will have, once I've cut yours." She smiled winningly.

"Ah."

"It would be ... educational," she coaxed.

"Educational is certainly one word for it, yes."

"Well, I certainly can't make it look worse than it already is," she pointed out.

"Ouch," he said.

"The truth hurts, Butler," she answered primly.

"If you're bored, there's always Chinese Checkers," he offered without much hope.

She pouted again.

"Oh, alright, alright. There are scissors in the drawer by the sink."

She clapped her hands once and hugged him from behind. "Thank you!" she said, kissing the crown of his head before running to get the scissors.

Butler sighed. But how does one say no to a girl like that?

The finished product wasn't, Butler had to admit, all that bad. Actually, it was quite impressive for a first attempt.

"Well done," he told her.

"Thank you," she said, as smug as ever. Then, tenderly, she reached forward, tucking a runaway strand behind his ear. After worrying her lip for a few seconds, she said, "I've been missing you lately, hidden away under all that hair."

* * *

Three months before her sixteenth birthday she showed up unexpectedly in the middle of the night.

"Minerva? Has something happened? Are you – you've been drinking." His concern turned to puzzlement, then suspicion. "You didn't drive here, did you?"

"Nope! Caught a taxi. But, yes," her voice turned solemn, "yes, I have been. Drinking, I mean. Liquid courage, Butler!" She stumbled on his doorstep.

Catching her arm, he guided her towards the closest chair and forced her to sit. "A taxi all the way from town? Jesus, Minerva. Just what are you needing to be brave for way out here?"

Head lolling, she giggled, the tail end of her laughter rising towards hysteria. "That's exactly the question, Butler. _Exactly_ the question!

"Yes, that would be why I asked it," Butler agreed, making to let go of her arm.

"No!" she said, grabbing onto his wrist, her voice suddenly sharp. "I know you want to make me tea but just ... just wait a minute, Butler. I haven't answered your question."

Butler left his hand on her arm. "Well?"

She opened her mouth, paused as though struck by a sudden thought, then said, "No. Actually, go make that tea. Can I answer it tomorrow?"

"Minerva, what –"

"No, I promise, this will make sense tomorrow. It's just – I thought I wouldn't be able to do it, so I had something to drink. And then more somethings. But I don't want to be drunk when I say this. I want to be stone-cold sober. It's just ... I was – I _am - _so afraid you'll ... No. Tomorrow."

"Afraid I'll what?"

"Afraid you won't want me." She blinked, realising what she'd said, and her hands flew to her mouth.

"Minerva," Butler backed away in a hurry, "what are you talking about?"

"Oh God," she groaned. "This is really not how this was supposed to happen."

"How what was supposed to happen?"

"This! This whole thing. I was going to be much more sophisticated than this. Not that I thought you'd like that better, but it would make me feel more in control. Because if you don't want me then – then – God, I think it would actually break my heart. Literally, I mean. Into very small pieces. I know that's a physical impossibility without an implement of some sort, and probably an awful lot of hacking, not to mention blood, but I really believe-"

"Minerva–" Butler interrupted her rambling, having backed himself up as far he could go. She focused on him abruptly, liquid eyes dark in the dim lights. Her eyes met his and she smiled, but it was sad. He couldn't bring himself to look away.

One hand on the table to steady herself, she rose shakily from her seat and crossed the floor towards him.

"Just let me do this one thing," she whispered, her voice very calm, like a lion tamer who has lost his whip. "Just this, and then you can say what you like, alright?"

"Minerva–" he began again, but then she kissed him, and whatever would have followed was lost.

She expected him to push her away. She expected him to be disgusted. He was such a revoltingly _good_ person she couldn't see how she'd ever convince him. Instead, his hands came up to cradle her face and, even if he didn't press the matter, he certainly didn't throw her off him.

"Your beard tickles," she said when she pulled away.

"Do you know how many laws I just broke and that's all you have to say?"

"I've never known you to take issue with breaking laws before. Besides, I'm legal in France."

"This is a bit different, Minerva. And we're not in France."

"I love you," she said, baldly. She was tired of beating around the bush, and it wasn't as if she had anything left to lose.

"Minerva," he tried to collect himself, "Minerva, you're a child, you-"

"Don't, Butler. You could have pushed me away. And don't say you did it to spare my feelings, that's just insulting."

He looked at her, her face still in his hands. "I hadn't intended to."

"Good." She swallowed, tilting her head up defiantly, always defiantly. Watching, he couldn't help but smile.

"We can't do this," he said. His voice was gentle.

"Do you love me?" And hers was hard.

"That's not the issue here."

"That's exactly the issue here."

"Minerva, you're still drunk."

"No, I am not. Besides, I told you I didn't want to do this now, that I wanted to wait until morning. I'll kiss you again tomorrow, if that will make you believe me. Trust me, I don't mind doing it again."

He chuckled, pushing her hair off her face.

"Look," she placed both hands on his chest for emphasis, "I've thought this all out–"

"Of course you have."

"Don't be sarcastic, I'm being serious."

"Minerva, you're not even sixteen yet. This is a crush. You don't want me. I'm three times your age and tied to someone else. I am old and broken. You need someone young and whole."

"No," she said, "I need someone who will love me like I deserve to be loved."

"Artemis–"

"You don't need to be next to me to be with me, Butler. And I know this seems like some silly infatuation, but do you remember that time that I said I'd found someone better than Artemis and you laughed at me for being so serious?"

Butler paused, not seeing the connection. "Yes."

"I was talking about you."

He blinked. "But that was months – years - ago."

"Exactly."

"Minerva, we can't do this." His words were clear, but his voice wasn't certain.

"I'm not asking if we can, I'm asking if you want to. I'm asking if you want me. I'm asking if you love me. Because I've made a concerted effort to see if I want anyone else and I really don't. I want _you_. And that's it. That's all. Don't make me kidnap you."

He laughed, as she had wanted him to, before growing serious once more. "One misadventure in London is hardly a concerted effort to–"

"Do you seriously think that's the only person I've had come after me in the past three years? I'm not so ugly as that. None of them ... measured up." Her lips twitched.

"You went to London with Tomás. You must have at least been interested."

"I was, a little. He reminded me of Artemis, who reminds me of you. And stop trying to sidetrack me. Do you love me or not?" She put up such a brave front, if you knew her well enough to recognise it. Butler smiled as he watched her jut out her chin to try to hide the way her lower lip trembled. He ran his thumbs under her eyes.

"Of course I do. You know I do."

She made a very small sound in the back of her throat. "Thank you," she said weakly, swallowing hard. And, in an instant, her courage dissolved and she threw her arms around his neck, her body shaking. "_Mon Dieu_, I was so s-scared you'd say no because you'd think it was wrong or you wouldn't want me and you'd send me away and what would I have done w-without you and I really don't care if you love Artemis more than me but I just– I–" For the first time in her life she ran out of things to say and so she just kissed him. He laughed under her lips.

"Don't laugh at me, I was very worried," she frowned at him when she pulled away.

"So I noticed," he smiled. He kissed her forehead gently. "Don't be, I'd never send you away."

"Thank you, Butler."

"You keep saying that."

"It bears repeating."

She tilted her face up for another kiss and, smiling, he obliged.


	5. Chapter 5

Hopefully, this isn't too anti-climactic, it needed to be done!

As always, thanks to ilex-ferox.

* * *

After

"Artemis is back."

Her breath left her all at once. She wondered if it made her a bad person that her first feeling was of disappointment, not elation.

"Butler – that's, _mon Dieu_. Really?"

"Really."

"Thank goodness." Then she laughed, because she was happy he was safe. Because she was happy that Butler would be happy, at last.

"I can't believe it. After all this time."

"You always knew he'd be back, _mon cher_."

"Yes, I did."

"I told you you weren't mad."

"Yes, you did."

"You're talking strangely."

"Yes, I am."

"_Butler_."

"Things are going to be different now."

"Yes, they are," she agreed. As she wanted him to, he laughed on the other end of the line, over there in Ireland. And in France she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep from crying. Because Butler would be happy, and it wouldn't be her doing. Because she would never have been enough to fill the hole left by Artemis. Because now he was back, and Butler would leave. Shutting her eyes didn't help.

"I can hear you crying," he said suddenly.

She said nothing.

"I'm going to be a bit presumptuous here and say they're not tears of joy, are they?"

"No," she agreed, sniffing quietly, "they're not."

"Things are going to be different, but they're not going to end. Artemis isn't a topiary specialist and I'm not going to leave you."

She chuckled lamely. "I knew that," she lied. "But I miss you, and you're not even gone yet. Well, I mean, you're not anymore gone than you were before, when I didn't miss you, but now it's different, and I miss you." She paused. "I'm not making any sense."

"No, I understand."

"You aren't going to tell him, are you?"

"No. Not yet, at any rate."

"Ever?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes. I want to tell everyone."

He chuckled and she could picture his eyes disappearing into his crow's feet. "So do I, but could we at least wait until you're legal? Maybe even a few years after that?"

She smiled. A few years after that. He wanted her for years. For years and years. "Oh, well, you're probably right. Maybe. It would be difficult to visit you in a prison cell, I suppose. I don't believe the guards would be willing to let me get very close."

"No, somehow I doubt that."

She opened the window to let in some air. "Butler?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I really am glad he's back. I'm glad you're happy. Really."

"I am too." He paused, then added, "But I was already happy before he came back."

She pressed her hand to her lips, as though to hold onto her smile. "That's ... good to know."

"Yes, I thought it might be." She could hear the smile in his voice, mocking her just a little for having doubted it.

"Minerva?"

"Mmm?"

"Thank you."

"You keep saying that."

"It bears repeating."

"I know exactly how you feel."

He laughed and she smiled, wrapping an arm around her stomach. She knew it would be a long time before any other arms held her, but, as she listened to his laughter, she found she was alright with that. At least those arms weren't gone forever.


End file.
